


As the Crow flies

by Deeambles



Series: It's only a matter of a pinion [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Gen, M/M, Surprise World Building, Tobirama has long hair, Wingfic, winged au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25514239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deeambles/pseuds/Deeambles
Summary: “Brother,” Tobirama demands, “Uchiha Madara.”“You were so happy earlier!” Hashirama counters, laughter still a drum beating beneath his ribs. The children are giggling along with their clan heads contagious laugh, the filthy little cotton swabs.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Series: It's only a matter of a pinion [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848433
Comments: 10
Kudos: 294
Collections: MadaTobi Week 2020





	As the Crow flies

**Author's Note:**

> For madatobi week: Winged Au 
> 
> but it's also a soulmate au and Tobirama has long hair au LOL

Madara feels it before anything else. It’s a prickly sensation right behind his ear, a feeling that has him flinching despite years of training to prevent such a thing. 

Izuna raises an eyebrow, a questioning chirp echoing across the landing deck. Madara dismisses the concern with the wave of a taloned hand, black nails, and black pigmented fingers flashing against the white back drop of his wings. It was nothing, he’ll deny later, even when it does in face turn out to be something. 

For now, the sensation fades, Izuna goes back to fixing his flight feathers and Madara chances a look at the predawn sky. They are alone at one of the higher oak trees, muscles still coming down from the adrenaline of packing nest and moving. It’s always a risk, but one the Uchiha have taken for hundreds of years. 

Their lands stretch across the mighty forests, and the Uchiha’s affinity for fire makes them adept at controlled burns that clear extra foliage and return nutrients to the soil. In the meantime, the Uchiha switch corners every few years, their homes wrapped in the large boughs of the tallest and strongest trees. Landing pads and treehouse like structures built from either old standing wood or new that’s bought off a trader. 

Two out of the five sections they rotate between leave them closer to the mountains that hold the Senju while the other three locations, leave them father, closer to the deer footed Naras. 

The Senju are a proud clan, as sturdy and immovable as the mountain they call their home. They are winged liked the Uchiha, from a common ancestor a thousand years ago. They are built stocky and tough, compared to an Uchiha’s light and moveable. Their Nests are built inside complex cave systems, while their people guard the entrances, tougher than stone. 

The prickly sensation comes back as a thrumming in Madara’s chest. It beats in time to someone else’s heart, it contracts to someone else’s breath, and it makes Madara drop the box of blankets he’s holding and fall on his ass. An even longer moment more of improve meditation before Madara can synch himself to it. 

Izuna comes over then, immune to Madara’s insistent demands that’s _he’s fine_ —- _(you damn chicken) (yeah whatever niisan—aren’t you too young to have a heart attack now?)_ —and insists on preening him anyways. 

“It’s fine,” Madara repeats the next time he manages a steady breath out. 

Izuna only hums in answer, pulling Madara’s hair into high a pony tail. Braid and interwoven feathers are pulled back with it but the scrape of nails across his scalp is welcome and Madara leans into it before breaking open his eyes. 

He looks up, watching the dawn break the horizon, pinks and oranges taking over blacks and blues. 

“Okay?” Izuna asks, fixing one of Madara’s long braids with little flowers from a nearby vine. They are white with little purple centers; a glowing contrast to his long black hair but compliment his white wings beautifully. Next to Madara, Izuna’s own brown speckled wings look mild. 

His little brother loops the longest braid up into the ponytail again, making Madara’s hair an artistically pretty design (and an absolute nightmare the next time he wants to wash it all). 

“I suppose even I’m shaken from the move.” Madara says easily, brushing taloned hands away before his hair becomes a bride’s best friend. He stands up, adjusts his flight tunic right and yanks his little brothers bangs for good measure. 

Izuna squawks like a pigeon and his wings flap ungracefully, smacking the borough of the tree and Madara both. 

“Okay okay!” Madara shouts to cover his laughter, “my bad.” 

“Yeah, your bad.” Izuna grumps for show, a smile suppressed beneath layers of mulish stubbornness. His dimples are a giveaway and Madara grins before reaching back down for the box he dropped earlier. 

It his luck that the sensation comes back and hits him like a beating drum, forcing Madara to drop into a kneel. The sensation thrums in his ears, beats to his heart, and vibrates his very bones. 

Over Izuna’s gasp ( _because three times a charm! Niisan your soulmate!!_ ) Madara stands abruptly and looks up. His strength comes in waves, surging and waving back to normal and it’s _any second now, dammit._ His gaze is trapped up into the morning sky with no real reason anyone should be flying, but Madara knows it’s right in the same way he knew how to meditate through the waves of his soulmates beating heart. 

Madara hears it, a war drum to his silent gliding. His soulmate is flying strong, if they were on their feet they’d be fleeing and Madara strains his eyes looking across the retreating stars for a flash of anything. His Sharingan activates, scanning, searching and his ears pulse as the beating gets louder. 

His heart thrums in time, near bursting out his chest, and through the ocean surrounding his head he hears Izuna mumble _“holy shit”_ before his Sharingan catches it. 

Someone breaks into view, flying like their life depends on it and Madara track their flight across the sky. Clothing ripped by arrows, long white hair a banner across pitch black wings, his body tall and strong and when he pitches forward, he’s _fast._

Faster than any avian Madara’s ever seen and he nearly gives himself whiplash tracking the progress. It’s only a work of a second to jump onto the highest branch, his own large wings assisting him where the tree groans under his weight. The mystery man is halfway across this corner of the forest before Madara’s brain catches up with what the sage-damned-gift told his instincts. 

His soulmate, strong and fast and his own built in yin and yang with that white hair and black wings. He never looks back but Madara will swear he saw a flash of red. His soulmate who— 

Who—

Who is—

Who’s flying straight toward the cliffs that house the Senju Clan; who’s hauling ass right into sage forbid _competitor_ territory. 

Madara gapes, probably unattractively, as he watches his soulmate until he’s out of view, blocked by steep cliffs and looming trees. 

After a minute, Izuna lands silently beside him, a hand gently closing his mouth, “you’ll catch bugs, niisan.” 

Madara stammers over himself and the quiet of the morning means he hears the Senju call to their family member. It’s too far for any distinction, whether it’s greeting or worry. 

A few calls from his own clan snap him out of it and he’s about to call out a disengage whistle ( _it’s his soulmate!!! His sage-gifted soulmate!!_ ) when Hikaku crash lands onto their deck. 

“Madara-sama, Izuna-sama,” he greets breathless, a brief pause at Madara’s gob smacked expression before regaining himself, “the grounders are outside.” 

Sage granted soulmate or not, Madara whips around grabbing his scythe and heads off immediately. 

Some things can’t wait, and threats to his family is one of them. 

And if he possibly gets to beat in the people who caused his soulmate harm... well that’s just a bonus. 

—————-

Tobirama will never _ever_ admit he hit the ground with anything but absolute grace. If the ground happened to be Hashirama, and he only stayed upright because his brother did not, well, that’s his business. 

He gathered barely more than a few flesh wounds but Hashirama (possibly out of spite) insisted he look at them. Down in the cave, Mito tolerates his presence inside their hollow, ever benevolent despite her Kitsune ancestry, and flightless shoulder blades. The elders had moaned and griped about Hashirama’s flightless mate ( _please, Hashirama see reason, we live cliff side!_ ) before Mito had nimbly lit fox fire beneath her feet and floated up alongside the rest of them. In fox form, she rivals them in the sky, a true kitsune running across the clouds. 

Mito also draws the line at Tobirama bloodying her furs and him and Hashirama are kicked to the outskirts of their nest without mercy. The more fearless children who dare to poke into the clan heads nest giggle under piles of carefully orchestrated materials that are both favored by avians and Kitsunes alike. 

Hashirama sighs, “Your speed is really something, Tobirama.” 

Tobirama hums, and after a harder than necessary tug on his chest wrapping, he rolls his eyes and thinks of a proper way to explain the events that took place. A glance over at the nest has him clearing his throat. 

“Send the youngsters out.” 

Mito raises an eyebrow where she’s preening a fluff covered wing (another thing the elders couldn’t complain about— how quickly she picked up avian habits) and looks over to the little group of fledglings. 

They look back with sad round eyes, and Mito never breaks eye contact when she jabs her thumb over her shoulder. 

“Get,” she says, “the boys want to gossip.” 

Tobirama huffs and Hashirama snorts where he’s moved to wrapping Tobirama’s thigh, but the children burst into giggles before tripping over themselves on the way out. 

Tobirama idly listens to their chirps and chatters before sending a call to a cousin. _Incoming_

The fledglings squawk in offense but don’t come back to yank on loose feathers so he turns his head back to his brother and sister in law. 

Mito is curling down into the nest and Hashirama drags Tobirama over to join, and when wings and tails, and blankets and furs are adjusted, Tobirama lets out a sigh of relief. 

“It’s morning.” He mumbles out of his cocoon. 

Tobirama technically has his own nest, but like most unmated family members he prefers company of blood. He had tried, in the beginning to stay out of Hashirama’s and Mito’s blooming fairytale but there’s only so many nights he feels comfortable intruding on Touka’s nest, only some he can tolerate sleeping with children—

(The children are the worst, rolling around on undeveloped wings, shedding fluff that makes you sneeze and yanking tail feathers.) 

—- and about once a week he’ll sleep in his own nest, stretched out as far as he’ll go, relishing in the sheer space as he lets his wing span out to full spread. 

And then it repeats. Besides, he gets cold by himself and his penchant for being in any nest but his own means his little hollow gets left alone. When Tobirama needs away from family, his escape is his own rarely intruded upon nest. In his opinion, he can’t get any smarter. 

Hashirama sticks his cold feet on Tobirama and Tobirama shoves chilled hand under Hashirama’s shirt until Mito threatens them both with violence do they settle. 

“Honored brother,” Mito says from Hashirama’s right flank, “do tell your exciting story of a courier run turn speed race.” 

Tobirama huffs

“I was running late and the grounders spotted me when the sky changed, the traitor.” 

Hashirama chuckles softly, “you are more suited to night runs, you look just like a shooting star!” 

Mito laughs like she does every time Hashirama says that, “your hair like a comet and your wings like the sky.” She sings, bells echoing in her voice. 

Tobirama rolls his eyes, “maybe I should cut it then.” 

Hashirama pouts, whining about how good it looks long and Mito doesn’t do anything so rash but she does narrow her eyes, tails flicking menacingly. 

Tobirama breathes out a sigh, mumbles about joking and no, of course he’s not cutting it, he likes letting the children practice braiding in feathers and twine they find ground side into traditional Senju braids. 

Mito subsides and Hashirama pulls one of his own braids forward to study it. 

“Also,” Tobirama drawls out, weighing syllables on his tongue, “I might’ve seen my soulmate.” 

The ominous silence beyond their nest echoes his siblings shock and Tobirama mentally grins like the fiend he is, _like ripping off a band-aid_ he thinks smugly. 

Hashirama is the first to break, only prevented by sitting straight up by Mito’s firm arm, sharp claws reaching dangerously toward Tobirama. 

There’s chirping and Hashirama’s demands for more information than that ( _are you positive little brother? Where? Who?_ ) and Mito’s narrowed eyes, gaging his seriousness (like he would ever joke about that) before he rips off the other band-aid. 

“I think he’s an Uchiha.” 

Silence envelops the nest once more and is only broken by Hashirama’s baritone call back to a cousin or another who’s returned from a hunt. 

They chew on their thoughts, respectively. 

The Uchiha are their closest competitor clan. Their territory, the sprawling forests beneath their sturdy mountain. They have west while the Senju have East, the Nakano a sharing middle ground north of them both. 

They used to be an enemy clan rather than just competitor but when Butsuma and Tajima were caught together by grounders, died together fighting _together_ , the clans entered a more peaceful understanding. It has helped that the Uchiha have spent their last three of five moving cycles away from the Senju. 

Only two cycles bring them close enough to hear their calls on a clear night and now... 

“They’ve moved.” Tobirama says softly, drowsy after a long hard flight escaping the people who fear them enough to shoot on sight. 

Hashirama hums and Tobirama doesn’t have to look to know he’s thinking of his old, illicit, definitely-should-not-have-happened, one-time friend. 

“Did you see who it is,” Mito asks lightly, voice not loud enough to carry even to the sharpest of ears. 

Tobirama cracks open an auburn eye, “yes, he looked right up. I just knew... in that moment even if I didn’t get to make eye contact.” 

Hashirama smiles and Tobirama burrows his face by his brothers’ shoulder. _Sappy_ , he mentally chastises, _that’s how he knows it was his soulmate. He’s never sappy!_

His siblings don’t comment but Hashirama does reach a hand out to start straightening out Tobirama’s black flight feathers. 

“White wings,” Tobirama mumbles, “to my black.” 

Mito purrs pleased, and Hashirama coos and Tobirama falls asleep, exhausted and content surrounded by siblings and the knowledge that his soulmate is not that far away. 

———

He wakes later in a flurry of feathers and agitation, the sage-granted-serotonin from gaining knowledge of his soulmate has slipped off his shoulders as easily as it was put there. 

“Uchiha Madara!” He squawks, loose feathers and furs scattering about. Hashirama breaks into uncontrolled laughter at his side, and the children who snuck in for a midday nap chirp in alarm pulling themselves out of the nooks and crannies between the three adults. 

Mito giggles behind a well-placed fur, “yes honored brother?” 

Tobirama stops dead in his explanation, there’s calls echoing throughout the tunnels some laughing at the sound of Tobirama’s furry and others who were further away who call out in concern. 

Hashirama manages a responding _stand down_ order but it comes out choppy enough behind his laughter that the rest of his horrible-no-good family is laughing behind their titters. 

“Brother,” Tobirama demands, “Uchiha Madara.” 

“You were so happy earlier!” Hashirama counters, laughter still a drum beating beneath his ribs. The children are giggling along with their clan heads contagious laugh, the filthy little cotton swabs. 

“Uchiha,” Tobirama says, “Madara.” As if saying it slower might take away the obscurity of the statement. Uchiha Madara is Senju Tobirama’s soulmate. Uchiha. Madara. His brothers’ one-time friend. The Uchiha clan’s clan head. 

Madara. 

_Uchiha Madara his soulmate._

“Well,” Hashirama says, wiping tears from his eyes, “there is only one Uchiha with white wings to your black wings.” 

Tobirama looks at Hashirama in betrayal, he _did_ say that when he was tucked in and happy, but all Tobirama’s stupid brain had connected earlier was that the other avian was handsome and strong looking and had pretty coloring before he took off because his life _quite literally_ depended on it. He didn’t even put the pieces together when he told Hashirama and Mito about the white wings. Not even when he thought about Madara as Hashirama’s temporary friend. And then his stupid cunning siblings didn’t even call him out on it and now—

Now, looking at Hashirama’s openly excited face and Mito sharp, humerous gaze he feels only betrayal and takes No shame when he pounces them, crushing them beneath wings and strong forearms. Beneath cries of mercy and the children breaking out into full laughter (and Mito escaping from his talons by the skin of her tails) Tobirama has a shockingly clear thought cross his mind. 

Tobirama is _never_ going to live this down. 

————————-

Madara is never going to live this down. 

Izuna is an absolute laughing mess over in Madara’s nest. Izuna has his own somewhere but intrudes on Madara’s _everything_ and this is no different. 

A cousin had innocently asked what kind of details Madara had remembered about his soulmate besides the obvious black wings and white hair and when Madara recalled... 

_Yes_ , his soulmate has white long hair and Black wings and is tall but still muscly if not as much as Madara. 

His soulmate _also_ had three red lines across his face and the Senju motif sewn into his double padded shirt. 

Senju Tobirama is his soulmate and he’s never going to live it down. 

He had to escape to his nest out of embarrassment and even then, he had to send Hikaku to warn off the elders and even _then_ Izuna still followed him to laugh about his luck. 

After laughing probably more than necessary, Izuna sobers up, taking a more serious tone. 

“Senju Tobirama, Huh.” He says softly, a considering look crossing his face. 

Madara hums, deep in his chest, smoothing down agitated feathers, “you were there.” 

“Yeah,” Izuna agrees, “but you seemed so happy I didn’t want to burst your bubble.” 

Oh, Madara realizes, he knew earlier. He considers then, marching over to ruffle his little brother hair. The little bastard _knew_ and had all morning to come to terms with the fact even after they were cooling down from chasing off the grounders. 

There were no runners amongst them today and the fight was over quicker just chasing off the archers.

An early morning from moving during the night, followed by the grounders. 

Then Madara’s soulmate. Auspicious in its timing, and Madara voices such out loud. 

Izuna quietly agrees shifting himself beneath various quilts. Madara quietly joins him ignoring the commotion of his clan outside. He’s sure the Senju must be confused about the ruckus so soon after their move, but at the very least, there will be no surprise run-ins after this. 

“So,” Madara says after a few more minutes of silence between them, “how do you feel about peace?”

**Author's Note:**

> what you mean that this was meant to be a one-shot but world building got in the way? i would never do that. just like i would never write something in one sitting and post it regardless of my feelings on it. 
> 
> no, definitely not me, absolutely would never, don't look at me like that.


End file.
